


Blinding Intelligence

by TheExplodingPen



Series: James Bond Prompt Fills [5]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: 00Q - Freeform, Established Relationship, James is high-strung, M/M, Post-Mission, Q is never perturbed, Tattoos, sort of, twinfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-17
Updated: 2014-01-17
Packaged: 2018-01-09 01:55:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1140074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheExplodingPen/pseuds/TheExplodingPen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Q has a twin. Bond didn't know.</p><p>00Q prompt: twin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blinding Intelligence

They'd been doing this... thing, whatever it was, long enough for Bond's instinctual post-mission reaction to be to drive to Q's flat. Somewhere along the lines of quick fucks in the stairwell and expensive dinners and new gadgets from Q-Branch appearing in his suit pockets, he'd managed to make Q a regular part of his “decompression routine.”

Q's words. Not his.

There was substantially less violent sex than he thought there would be. Come to think of it, there was never any rough-and-tumble sex post-mission. It was all soft and…and comforting, with lots of silence and extended periods of Q working and Bond sleeping at his side with one arm thrown lightly over the boffin's waist. 

He turned his key in Q's lock, stepping into the boffin's flat as his shoulders relaxed in some sort of Pavlovian response to the smell of incense and Earl Grey. Q was leaned up against the counter in the kitchen, his arms crossed over his bare... _tatooed_ chest.

Q didn't have tattoos.

Bond's whole body thrummed with adrenaline as his hand flew to his Walther. He drew the weapon and had it trained on Q's look-alike before the other man could even blink.

“What the fuck?”

American. Bond raised the gun a little higher, training it on the man's chest. “On the ground,” he said, his tone inviting no argument. 

“You little _fucker_.”

“I said, on the ground.”

The American let out a breath and set down his mug, making a show of turning around to show Bond that he was unarmed before he knelt down and spread himself on the ground, hands behind his head. “Happy now?” he asked, his voice muffled by the carpet under his face. “I'm taking a wild guess that Q didn't tell you about me.”

Bond ignored him, cocking an ear in the direction of the bathroom. He could hear the shower running, so there was at least one other person in the flat. Setting his bag down silently, he retrieved a set of zip-ties and secured the American's wrists and ankles tightly enough to make the other man grunt and swear.

“I'm guessing Q isn't with you for your _blinding_ intelligence, _fuck_! Watch the fingers, fuckwit!”

Bond considered gagging him, but he didn't want to waste any more time. Locating Q was his top priority – the American could be dealt with later.

Gun raised, he made his way back to the bathroom, checking for any signs of a struggle. He didn't see a single one, and when he pushed the bathroom door open, he saw Q standing in the shower under the stream of water, absolutely content-looking.

To Q's credit, he barely raised an eyebrow when he saw 007 pointing the gun at him. His exact words, when Bond finally registered them, were, “I thought we decided against gunplay.”

Bond lowered the weapon, gesturing in the direction of the kitchen. “Your security system let someone into your flat,” he said. “He's restrained, but we need to...”

“He's _what_?”

Bond froze. “Ah, restrained.”

Q turned the water off with an irritated flick of his wrist, pulling his towel off the rack. With the reduction of noise, Bond could hear the American still talking in the other room. 

“...what I get for being fucking familial. 'Get on a plane, Q. Come visit me, Q.' But no. You've got to be fucking afraid of flying and have a goddamn psychopath as a fucking fuck-toy you absolute fucking thick-headed shit!”

Q sighed, toweling himself off before slipping into a pair of green plaid flannel pajamas. “Put the gun away,” he told Bond, pulling a shirt over his head as he walked out of the bathroom. Bond hesitated, but he complied, slipping the Walther back into its holster as he followed Q out into the kitchen. 

The American looked up at Q and Bond, still spitting expletives. “About fucking time.”

Q gave Bond an exasperated look as he went to retrieve the pair of safety shears from the kitchen drawer. He clipped the zip-ties that were restraining the American, and then turned to face Bond. “007, meet Alex White.”

“It's fucking Tyler Jacobson now, _Aster_.”

Q rolled his eyes as the American brushed himself off. “Very well. Tyler Jacobson. James Bond. I see you two have already made each other's acquaintance.”

Tyler and Bond eyed each other distrustfully, and then Q added, “If you can't already tell, he's my twin.”

It was eerie, just how similar the two young men were. At first glance, the only difference Bond could see was the large black dragon tattoo that covered most of Tyler's chest that was... smudged, in the corner. Smudged?

“Why is he here?”

Q shot him a look that he interpreted to mean 'be nice.' “He's visiting,” Q elaborated. “From the States. He's going undercover for the CIA and needed some work done.” The hacker gestured at the tattoo.

Bond's eyes widened. “You did that?”

Q nodded, bending down to rub his thumb over the smudged portion of the design. “And I'm going to have to redo it because of your affinity for throwing people around.

Tyler mumbled something that sounded like 'fucking lunatic,' and Q flicked his ribs. “It's a semi-permanent kind of airbrush,” he said. “To answer your next question. Should last for a few months if I can actually get it to set on him.” He pointed towards the bathroom. “Shower. Use the soap in the green bottle.”

Still muttering, Tyler shouldered past Bond and into the bathroom. Unamused, the agent turned to Q, reaching out to draw Q into his arms. “I'm sorry for neutralizing your brother,” he said evenly.

Q laughed. “He needed it. You all right?” 

Bond shrugged, and Q cocked an eyebrow. “Tired,” the agent admitted. “But fine.”

“Bed,” Q countered. “And now. I'll be in in ten minutes.”

Fifteen minutes and one argument later, Q slipped into bed next to Bond, reaching out to pull the agent in close. “Leave him tied up next time, will you? And gagged.”

**Author's Note:**

> For anonymous.
> 
> To prompt me, either leave a comment here or head over to my [Tumblr](http://theexplodingpen.tumblr.com/) and prompt me there. I have a list of the fandoms I write for on both my AO3 profile and Tumblr profile.


End file.
